Page 46 of Bathed in Blood

And Jax.

He shrieked. He begged. How many times hadIbegged? How many times didIdo everything he wanted? I was well behaved, went out of my way, and yet he took me savagely. He’d keep going until my legs buckled and my begging went silent.

I’m with Christian now.

The Vanegas.

I’m a Vanegas.

Another hour or two passes as I explore. I’m not particularly going in any direction, just wandering. Thehouse, if you can call it that, is framed in thick wood that’s probably older than me, elaborate stairwells, molding, carpets, and tapestries decorating the halls and rooms. The décor screams Mediterranean, rich colors and smelling like incense I can’t see, but the house itself stands as a beacon of English Tudor style. It’s nothing like the gaudy, polished Sullivan mansion. I could almost believe this is someone’s…home.

When my wandering leads me down a wrought iron spiral staircase, I gasp at the room below me. It’s like stepping into a well-curated terrarium: the large sunroom is overflowing withexotic plants, all encasing a recessed living area. Snow and ice batters the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it feels like summer. The men who have been shadowing my journey fidget behind me, but I ignore them.

I rub absently at the wound in my chest, trying to soothe it as I head to one of the many windows, scooting onto a huge burnt orange bean bag type chair. The smell of incense increases, the built in aqueduct system trickling nearby. It’s like stepping into one of the ambiance YouTube videos I used to have to fall asleep to.

It’s crazy how you adapt. Five years ago, I would stay up all night, tossing and turning, without one of those videos.

Suddenly, I didn’t need it, like my brain decided to shut that part down to better handle more pressing matters. Suddenly, a year in, I developed a pain tolerance I never had before. I was able to eat food I hated because none of it had flavor. I was able to stop my tears and not feel when it suited me. I was able to hate The Blood Princess, feel insurmountable guilt, to keep track, and still…get excited when they lead me to that room. I was able to enjoy the rape. Even the most painful ones offered mental stimulation, if not orgasms. I adapted without ever meaning to.

Maybe I could again. I could learn to breathe past the pain in my chest. I could find my anger and, someday, peace. I stare at the large garden covered in a blanket of snow and ice, wondering if anyone would ever need the breeze again. My face is hot and wet from my tears, but this feels like a good place to cry.

“Some people believe plants, like crystals, can absorb emotions.”

I jump, my head snapping over my shoulder to the large man now reclining on the deep blue leather sofa in the lower level of the recessed living space. Christian’s father discards his cane beside him, his hands folded in his lap, and I clear my throat asI frantically wipe at my tears with the long sleeves of the baggy athletic top I grabbed earlier.

“That's why I always loved this place. A human, like a plant, can’t thrive if it’s being forced fed all the wrong things. It takes time, patience, to grow.”

My eyes slam to my lap as his raise to meet mine. “I’m sorry, sir, about your knee.”

He laughs, and the sound is so warm, damn near jolly, that it takes me aback. “I can’t blame you for defending yourself. Sometimes, I lose track of decorum when I have a goal in mind.”

My throat burns as I swallow. “Is that what this is? You’re here because you want me to perform?”

When he groans to a stand, his tailored robe coat fastened in the front, I remember it's well into the night. My hands fist the loose fabric of the seat, trying to remember what pocket I put the phone in.

“Nobody told me how terrible children are before I had eleven of them. How their adorable toothy smiles would turn into grown-ups one day. That they would smile less, and I would waste time wondering if it was my fault.” He leans down, grabbing some kind of metal spray bottle. I watch him tentatively grasp a large leaf of a fern, studying the stem before spraying it with the water. His lack of an answer has me fighting for the phone, panic clawing up my chest.

“I always told my children that family comes first, but no one took it to heart quite like Christian. He had his reasons.” His thumb runs over his badly scarred fingers. “He made you family. Know that your place here, although not…favorable for you at first, will be, if you let it. We are not Sullivan scum, but we’re not…goodpeople. The quicker you come to terms with it, the easier it will be for you here, Lana.”

The sound of my name makes my throat clog further. God, I feel so stupid for crying in front of him.

“I will not have any daughter of mine in danger, so your days of performing are done. As a Vanegas, you must fill the space you left. Protect and serve your family when you are ready. It will be your responsibility to train a replacement, to prepare her. You have the backing of my family, the support while you heal.” He half laughs, stepping forward, making me flinch despite not feeling like I’m in danger.

"My son will ensure that their lineage pays for what was done to you. He’s been working tirelessly to clear any trace of your identity from the web. We all have. I’ll let the man himself tell you what else he’s been up to but know that you have a family now. You are not alone.” He laughs again, less bitter this time as he scratches his salt and pepper hair. “Whether you want to be or not.”

My mouth opens and closes, a strangled whimper coming instead of words.

He only nods. “My personal conservatory is open to you when you need it.” He reaches around his neck, lifting off a thick band with a light pink crystal at the end shaped to a deadly point. “The Vanegas family is strong, Lana. My son, the heir to my empire, is strong.” His scarred hands look so large as he holds out the necklace, and my vision blurs as I lean forward, letting him place it around my neck. His warm hand pets my cheek affectionately. “You do not have to be.” The weight of the necklace settles on me like a blanket, its dark brown tie so long, it lays at the bottom of my breasts.

My cries fill the conservatory as the blizzard gives way to ice pelting the windows, and he grunts again as he eases himself down onto the couch, resting his head back. “My name is Aurelio. It’s nice to properly meet you,withouthaving my kneecap dislocated.”

The laugh that leaves my lips startles me to the point that I shut it off halfway, letting silence fill the room before I wipe my raw, running nose on my sleeve. “Or being punched in the face.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Welcome to the family. I’ll stay here until my son arrives. It’s late; get some sleep.”

23

Spring

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